


Unstable mass of blood and foam

by Cirkne



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, blood mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:14:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: He’s the only human they have. Like a pet, Alexander thinks. They've decided to keep him.





	

There’s something to be said about the bruises. The jar of eyeballs. Not human. Probably not human. There’s something to be said about spider legs and lizard tails and wood shavings all on the same shelf. The cabin is too big to be visited this rare. The woods are catching up to it, John says. Sometimes it sounds like a threat. Like the sun will one day explode and take all of the planets around it. Including earth. Including them.

“I won’t be alive for that,” Alexander says. John’s not looking at him, but he nods. He knows this. He says they haven’t had a human in a while. The trees are catching up to the cabin and they look sinister at night, branches like hands reaching out to get them. To get Alexander, mostly. John says the woods remind him of his childhood. Never says if it’s a good thing. Alexander doesn’t ask. Doesn’t ask a lot of things. Most of John’s books lay scattered on the the floor or the table. Some Alexander finds on the bed in John’s room. In fairy tales the books are old and dusty.

“This isn’t exactly a fairy tale,” John tells him. A book is in his lap. Gilbert’s car is pulling into the dirt road by the cabin. That morning Alexander broke a jar of bird claws. John hasn’t cleaned it up yet, but he told Alexander not to touch it. There’s glass shards on the floor, under the table, under the cabinets. Alexander’s asked to read the spell books and John has told him no and then he’s read out the parts he thinks Alexander will find interesting. Bird claws haven’t been mentioned yet.

Outside, the wind is harsh and the trees are singing, inviting him like sirens. Yesterday he could hear birds. Sometimes John tells him that going outside isn’t safe, but he never elaborates. Alexander thinks he forgets where he is. Or, he forgets _when_ he is. Or, time stopped existing to him about a hundred years ago. The trees will catch up to the cabin eventually and John will stay inside until his body rots.

Gilbert opens the door, brings the wind with him. John looks up from his book, tenses, waits. In a strange way he looks like a dog. There aren’t any dogs near the cabin, but Alexander’s seen deer in the woods. Maybe he looks like a deer. Startled in the headlights, except there are no headlights. Gilbert finds them in John’s room. Nods at Alexander, touches his back while he’s walking to the bed John is sitting on.

“Hey, soldier boy,” he says, low. Alexander leaves the room. Through the windows he can see the trees, almost empty of leaves now. The sky’s grey. The glass shards are still all over the floor. In a way, Gilbert terrifies him. There is magic and hell hounds and werecats and fairies and tree nymphs and valkyries, but Gilbert terrifies him the most. The ability to control emotions. The ability to manipulate the way someone feels. Alexander thinks of losing himself like that and doesn’t interact with Gilbert on his worst days.

“He doesn’t do that anymore,” John says, once, but there’s something in the way he’s standing, arms around his waist, the way he’s not looking at Alexander. People learn through trial and error. There’s a lot of time for error in the two hundred years they’ve known each other. “We were both horrible back then,” John says, “We’ve learned,” and he says this with no hint of doubt in his voice and Alexander thinks it’s about time he started listening, but it is easy to slip up.

Gilbert is taller than him. Hercules had joked that his height was the reason Alexander seemed so intimidated at first. He was probably right. Back then Alexander didn’t know about what any of them were. He guesses with Gilbert it’s always been instinct. The cabin door doesn’t open when he pushes at it. He wishes John hadn’t told him not to clean up the jar he broke. He crushes a piece of glass with his boot when he’s walking back to the room.

John’s head is on Gilbert’s chest. The book he was reading, still open, now thrown on the floor. They’re not looking at him. John’s not exactly looking at anything, Alexander can tell. His fingers are curled tight in Gilbert’s shirt.

“He locked the door,” Alexander says. John doesn’t react. He’s convinced he’s not safe. Convinced they’re not safe. Gilbert’s fingers are slowly combing through John’s hair. The bedroom window has a crack John hasn’t fixed yet. Gilbert moves one of his hands to John’s. They learned to love each other a long time ago, Gilbert whispers:

“It’s safe, little soldier, you can unlock the door, nothing will happen,” John uncurls his fingers. Alexander watches them for a moment before he leaves. The floorboards creak underneath his feet and he stops himself from saying goodbye. This time the door opens easily.

John’s car keys are still in the ignition. Alexander turns on the heating, rolls down the window. The sky is still grey above him. It’s going to rain. John doesn’t usually stay in the cabin when it rains but Alexander doubts he’ll come back to the city tonight. The dirt road leads to a street which leads to an exit which leads to the highway which leads to another exit which leads to another street which leads to the city. It’s a two hour drive.

The woods follow him until he reaches the highway. The sun comes out from behind the clouds. He turns off the heating. He thinks his hands are hurting. Blinks. It might be his head. He thinks he can’t see where he’s going. Would it matter? He’s known the way back by heart for months now.

The road home is empty. He’s been in the cabin for two days. His stuff is still in the backseat. Between them, probably, an apple that’s started to rot. He’s reminded of fairy tales again. If he took a bite he’d fall asleep for a thousand years or if he pricked his finger he’d be poisoned or if he was given human legs he’d have to give them back by midnight.

When he turns on the radio it’s playing a station he doesn’t remember listening to on his way to the cabin. He doesn’t remember his way to the cabin. He might have been asleep. He needs to call Gilbert when he gets home. Needs to ask him about John. He should have done it when he was still there, but he can’t be around John when he’s afraid like that. Gilbert’s the only one that knows how to keep him calm. Trial and error. Alexander doesn’t have two hundred years to figure it out.

By the time he’s gotten back into the city, the sun has started to set. He rolls up the window. Hercules will be waiting for him. Maybe. Hercules should be waiting for him. Aaron will still be in the shop. He looks at the sky. There’s an orange line across it. He doesn’t take the turn to go home. It’s another twenty minutes to the shop. At a red light, someone smiles at him from the car next to John’s. In the backseat sits a child. Alexander smiles back. Thinks of calling Hercules to tell him he’s going to Aaron’s shop. Some of the shops are closing. Some of the lights in apartment buildings are turning on. The sun is still setting.

When he reaches Aaron’s shop, the open sign is still hanging from the handle. Aaron’s talking to someone inside. It’s been over a year. Alexander’s getting older. He doesn’t feel it, but it’s happening. It hangs over him. The bells that chime when he opens the door to the shop hang over him. Aaron doesn’t turn to look, keeps talking to what Alexander presumes is a customer. He looks around the shop. There’s a plant by one of the windows that’s started to bloom. Red. In a weird way, reminds him of spider legs.

“Alexander,” Aaron says as his customer leaves, a white orchid in their hands. He’s smiling, if only a little. Alexander smiles back, walks up to him behind the counter, rests his hand carefully on Aaron’s hipbone. For a moment, Aaron leans into it and then they pull away. “Missed you.”

“It’s been two days,” Alexander answers, but he’s missed Aaron too. He misses him the same way he feels exhaustion. It’s in his bones before it gets to his head.

“How’s John?” Aaron asks. The lights flicker. They’ll have to flip the sign to closed soon.

“He’s with Gilbert,” Alexander says. It’s not an answer, but it’s the only thing he can think of to say. The lights flicker again. He needs to call Hercules. Gilbert, too. Aaron leans against the wall behind them. Alexander looks out one of the windows. There are birds on the telephone wires. He can only really make out their silhouettes. In the dark they look bigger than they should be.

He’s craving peaches, he realizes which hasn’t happened in years and the feeling in his rib cage is still too heavy. Like there’s a hand pressing down in the middle of his chest. He thinks it might mean something. He thinks if he wasn’t so tired he might know what it is. When he turns back to Aaron, there’s vines growing from under his sleeves, wrapping around his fingers. They used to wilt whenever Alexander looked at them. It’s better now, but they won’t stay long if he’s around. A reminder of how little he knows Aaron, even two years later. A reminder of how temporary his human life is.

“I love you,” Alexander says and Aaron hums, leans into him again.

“Me too,” he answers, waits a second, adds: “I love you too,” like he knows how much Alexander needs it. They’re just words, but words have always been everything to him. Hercules had joked once that his heart pumps ink instead of blood. Alexander watches ink stains on his fingers sometimes. Maybe he wishes it was true.

“You need to close up the front,” Alexander tells him. Aaron’s looking out the window. The vines are wilting.

“You need to go home before you’re too tired to drive,” he answers, his voice far away suddenly. On the ground, the vines turn to dust. Alexander watches them. He imagines his body like that too. _All came from the dust and all return to the dust._ Hercules is waiting for him at home.

New sprouts are showing from under Aaron’s collar, trying to grow around his neck. Sometimes when Alexander touches them, for a split second before they die, he can feel them wrap around his fingers.

Alexander listens because Aaron knows better. On his drive home he thinks of how he wishes he didn’t need sleep. Tomorrow he’ll need to fill up John’s car with gas. He parks right by the entrance to the building. Takes the stairs to the third floor. Finds his key.

Their kitchen smells awful. Always does. Hercules says you get used to it after a decade. Like it doesn’t mean anything. Alexander wants to give him shit for it but he’s not any better. Aaron’s the only one that cleans. Aaron’s almost never home. Alexander opens the kitchen window. Someone’s shouting below. Aaron says they should move soon. Alexander wonders if soon is before or after he dies. Before or after he gets too old. If they had met four years ago, Alexander would have been the same age as Aaron. Now he’s four years older. You can’t see yet, but it’s going to happen.

The fridge is almost empty. There’s seven energy drinks. Hercules says he likes the taste. Alexander says no one likes them for the taste. He doesn’t actually think that but it’s something to bicker about. He remembers he’s craving peaches. If he hurries, he can get to a store before closing hours. He doesn’t want to hurry. The peaches will wait. There’s still coffee so he’s fine. He’ll go shopping tomorrow.

Hercules isn’t home. He should be, but he’s not. His phone is on the shelf. The bed is made. Alexander should shower before he gets in. Instead he sits on the floor, back against the couch and waits. He’s rarely alone like this. He used to be obsessed with death. Maybe that’s how he found them. Or they found him. He can’t remember now. He thinks Hercules might have brought him in. Thinks. Isn’t sure.

Their apartment feels like the centre of the universe sometimes. Maybe by now it’s all Alexander knows. Tonight it feels like he’s somewhere else. Their living room is too dark, his skin is too cold. He might still be in the cabin. The trees might have caught up to him by now. Hercules should be home, but he isn’t. Alexander should probably be worried. In the back of his mind, he is. In the back of his mind, his bones ache. He thinks of the apple he left in the backseat of John’s car. If a wolf ate him, someone would cut its stomach open and set Alexander free. He thinks of being eaten. Maybe John would eat him in the middle of a really bad episode. If Gilbert wasn’t there he would. Alexander should probably be more afraid of John then.

The door unlocks. Heavy steps. Rushed steps. The living room door opens as well.

“Baby you’re back,” Hercules says. His voice different. Like something’s been scratching at his throat. Alexander opens his eyes.

“Blood,” he says. Wants to motion to Hercules’ clothes but his arms are heavy. He’s so tired.

“It’s not mine,” Hercules answers, bends down to pick Alexander up. Alexander knows this. He’s tired, but he knows. Hercules doesn’t bleed. “Jefferson fucked up, but it’s fine. I fixed it.”

“Hm,” Alexander tries to say: gross but he’s too tired to hate Jefferson. Feels like there’s something else he’s missing. Hercules carries him to the bedroom. It smells like ash. Alexander should open the window, but Hercules is holding him. He can’t lift his arms. His limbs feel so heavy to him.

“How was the cabin?” Hercules asks, quiet. “Did John tire you out?” something weird in his voice again. Alexander wants to say it sounds hopeful, but that’s not it. Hercules lays him down on the bed. Their sheets are cold on his skin. Alexander hums. Hercules pushes hair out of his face, tucks him in. Like a child, Alexander thinks and then feels really gross. Falls asleep before he forms the words to complain.

*

Alexander keeps waking up. Hercules is with him sometimes. He doesn’t sleep but he’s on the bed with him. It no longer smells like ash but it’s cold also. It’s dark outside at first. Then it’s not. Then Hercules is no longer with him. There’s a phone call at some point. It’s about him, he thinks. Or it’s about a human. He’s the only human they have. Like a pet, Alexander thinks. They've decided to keep him. They’ll kill him when he gets too old. In the cabin. They’ll take him to the woods and they’ll kill him. He thinks he’d probably want that. He doesn’t have anyone besides them so when they leave- it’s probably for the best if they kill him. He thinks about Eliza. They haven’t talked in a few months. If they keep him alive he’ll have to go back to her. She’s the only person that would take him in. How pathetic it is to depend on the people around you.

Aaron comes back while Alexander is still in bed. It’s not a good sign. Soon it will start getting dark again. He’s slept for so long. He wakes up because it’s time. He’s still tired though. Less, but tired. Hercules hasn’t been in the room since dawn.

Voices in the living room. Quiet voices in the living room. John and Lafayette are back. John’s voice in the living room. He’s not having an episode. Alexander listens. He should go talk to them it’s rare that they’re all happy together. Aaron says it’s not. They started gathering more often, but that’s in their terms not Alexander’s. He hasn’t been with them like this in months. He should go talk to them, except:

“Has it really been two years?” Lafayette asks. “Feels like it’s been less.”

“We have to give him up,” Hercules says. Like he’s talking about a pet. About Alexander. “He can’t handle much longer.”

They stay quiet after that. Alexander waits. He should shower. He thinks they told him back then. They said something. It’s- they can’t keep a human for long. Takes too much out of them. At the time he didn’t understand. He doesn’t know if he understands now either but he’s so tired it probably makes sense. He knew this. He thought they’d keep him until he got too old. Until it was obvious he was too old. He hasn’t looked at his reflection in a long time. Maybe it really is time.

He opens the door. They’re in the living room. Tea mugs on the table. Water marks on the wood. They’re looking at him.

“I need to shower,” Alexander tells them. The words kind of hang. Don’t fit in the room. He feels like a child again. Hercules and Aaron both say: “okay” at the same time. They’ve been together for so long. He wonders what it’s like for them. To love each other so long. It must feel different.

“Do you want me to help?” Hercules asks. His arm is on the couch behind Aaron, touching his shoulders slightly. When they get rid of him it will just be them two again. He wants to say yes but when he looks at John, John is looking back with something like pity in his eyes and Alexander gulps, shakes his head, walks towards the shower.

Hercules says he makes the water too hot. Leaves him notes on the fogged up mirror. Aaron tells them both off for it. Like a tired parent. Maybe that's how he feels living with them all the time. Living with Alexander, specifically.

He spends a long time just standing under the stream. Can hear chatter in the living room still. Can't make out the words. Does his best to ignore it. It's not good for him but breaking down in the shower wouldn't be good either. His shampoo smells like green tea. Gilbert says it's the weirdest shampoo scent he can think of. Of course it is. Alexander doesn't think of what will happen to him once they make him leave. If they don't kill him he'll probably kill himself, but he doesn't think about it. He thinks about the way shampoo feels weird in his hands and in his hair and how Aaron shouldn't leave the store alone. He should have gotten a helper long ago. Alexander should ask why John doesn't work there.

His towel is light green. There's a bleach stain on it from a few months ago when he thought he needed a change. He's died it back to the brown it used to be. He wonders if Aaron could bleach his hair. He doesn't have hair, but if he did. He wonders what it feels like being stuck in the same never changing body. He wipes the mirror with his towel and looks at himself in it. His eyes are red and the bags under them are bordering on black and he looks too pale for himself and his hair hasn't looked healthy since he bleached it. He should re-dye it before the dye washes out and leaves him a weird sort of ginger. The mirror fogs up again before he can start hating himself. He leaves his reflection be.

In the bedroom, he scavenges through their shared closet to find Aaron's sweater. Puts it on. His sweaters are always softer than Alexander's. Doesn't think of how soon he won't be able to borrow them. Hercules offers to make him tea. They still need to go grocery shopping. Or, Alexander needs to go grocery shopping. He'll have to get used to doing these things alone again. He wonders what kind of apartment he can get with his current job. It doesn't pay enough for him to live alone. He thinks he'll just have to die. Wonders if it's worth quitting.

"How are you feeling?" Hercules asks when he comes out of the bedroom, his hair still damp against his neck. John is sitting in Gilbert's lap. He looks so small against him. Alexander thinks of how he'll miss having them around. He says:

"I need to go buy groceries," though it's kind of pointless if he doesn't know when they're kicking him out. He just wants a reason to leave before they tell him what he already knows.

"I can drive you later," Gilbert says. Aaron reaches out to him. There are no sprouts showing on his skin. Alexander shakes his head.

"I could use the fresh air," he says. It's only partly a lie. John narrows his eyes at him, Alexander tries to smile without it looking like he's pretending. Hercules puts his hand on Alexander's shoulder, makes him flinch a little, but he stops himself before he pulls away completely. He thinks he should touch them as much as he can before it's over.

"It'll get dark soon," Hercules tells him. "You slept for a really long time." There's something he doesn't say. Alexander can guess what it is. Wants to tell Hercules that it's not his fault. Can't without everyone realizing he knows. Leans back against Hercules.

"I'm not a kid, I'll be fine," he says. Feels like he's convincing himself of it before he's convincing them.

Before he leaves, both Aaron and Hercules kiss him. He tries not to think of it as them saying goodbye.

*

Alexander doesn't end up going to any stores. Walks around trying to breathe. Feels exhausted again. Buys coffee at a gas station. He could live like this, he thinks. Live on caffeine and eighteen hour naps. If they just kept him for a little longer.

*

Hercules was right. The street lamps turn on before Alexander can finish his coffee. He left his phone at home. Doesn't know where he's going, exactly. It's too hot for this time of year. In front of him he can see someone he knows. Feels suddenly dizzy. Doesn't know how he's going to get back.

*

It's too dark. Too cold. His hands are shaking. There's a question he doesn't hear, but he knows what he's agreeing to so listening doesn't really mean anything.

They keep asking if he's sure. He thinks of how tired he is. Thinks of how Aaron and Hercules are probably waiting for him at home. Thinks of how they won’t be for much longer. Thinks of how Hercules smelled yesterday, blood on his clothes. He says yes. His hands still won't stop shaking.

*

To be honest he thought it'd hurt more. Maybe it's just how dizzy he is. Can only really focus on how sticky he feels. Heavy. Gross. Tired. Tired. Tired. His lips cold. Freezing, even. His hands stop shaking at some point but he feels like they shouldn't. They ask if he's sure again and he laughs. It's a little too late now. There's a hand pressing down on his neck. He tries to grip at something but there's nothing there.

*

They make him drink something. Well- he knows what it is. He doesn't want to think about it though. It smells like waking up in the middle of a heatwave. Like Saturday mornings in his home. His old home. He thinks of how he hated tourists showing up on the beach. It smells like sea salt. Like old metal parts washed up on the shore. Like other things he doesn't want to think about because they'll make him sick. He knows this is a mistake. Gulps it down like he's starving. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows it makes sense for him to be.

*

There's shouting. The smell of ashes and more shouting. Oh, Alexander thinks. He should have known this would happen. There are hands on his body. Someone pulls him away from the stickiness underneath him. He wonders if the aftermath of his decision is really better than dying. It's funny. He kind of chose both. Or, the second is the effect of the first. Maybe. Maybe it's the other way around. They carry him out. Drag him out, probably. He should stop feeling this tired soon.

*

They’re in the cabin again. He wonders if it was a smart decision to take him to the cabin mid turning, doesn’t dare ask. There’s an entire day afterwards where they’re all there and no one is talking. He’s not talking either. They keep looking at him. His head is filled with cotton balls.

"How do you imagine it felt?" Hercules asks. "I sense death Alexander, what do you think I thought? Why would you do that?"

"You can keep me now," Alexander explains and watches Hercules burst into tears. Wants to hold him closer, doesn't know if he can.

They treat him like he’s fragile. They always did, but they do it even more now. Except Gilbert. Gilbert, when it’s his turn to watch over Alexander, says:

“You’re forcing us to keep you,” It’s true, but he doesn’t sound angry. Kind of sad. He places his fingers on Alexander’s neck. Where the marks should be, Alexander imagines. Doesn’t know if he’s right. “Love like this will never be healthy,” he says and Alexander thinks of how it’s probably not the first time those words have left his lips. How he and John weren’t any better. It’s easy to talk when you’ve spent two hundred years learning. Alexander’s spent two yearning. It’s a poem he should write. He might, one day. There’s time. He won’t catch up to Gilbert and John for a really long while.

*

Alexander waits until it’s three in the morning to say: 

“I don’t have to stay here. I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this or take care of me. I’m forcing you into this. I’m sorry.”

Aaron scoffs. Aaron looks at him like he’s saying something that doesn’t make sense. Aaron pulls him close, kisses him. Kisses him for longer than usual. Puts his hand on Alexander’s chest. Keeps it there until it’s very obvious there’s no heartbeat. Sighs into Alexander’s mouth. 

Alexander wants to have a way to stop feeling guilty. He doesn’t sleep but he has to stay inside until the sun sets. Not forever, but for a few years at least. He’s too sensitive now. He wants to feel like the reason he did this isn’t selfish, but it is. They could have left him. They _should_ have left him. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, but they let him stay. He looks at Gilbert and John. John would break if someone messed around with his emotions, the same way Alexander would. Maybe in two hundred years he will have learned the same way they did.

*

You’re supposed to stay attached to the person that turned you. They all know this. Jefferson calls and none of them pick up. The phone rings until Alexander thinks he’s going insane. Goes into the woods as soon as it gets dark. They don’t decide to punish him, but there’s little things that happen on their own. Consequences. Alexander should have known. His body wants to be close to Jefferson. His veins sing for him. Even when he’s no longer human, he still depends completely on someone else. John jokes that they’ll have to move the cabin if he keeps going through the woods like that. Alexander doesn’t want that, but he’s so hungry. Teeth inside a deer. Months ago he compared John to a deer in his head. Finds it hard not to think about it now.

John buries the remains. Alexander wants to feel bad, but he only feels hungry. They can’t have him around humans and they tell him as much. Can’t bring another one in. It’s a joke to them, it seems. Alexander thinks of how humans really are pets to them. Hercules pets his hair, like he used to back then too. The memories start getting blurry. The metaphor Alexander thinks of is needing new glasses. The phone won’t stop ringing.

*

They fake his death. Or, well, he’s _dead_ , technically, so they don’t fake it, just give him another one. Good enough to have a sentence in the newspaper. He jokes about framing it on the wall but no one brings him a copy. He doesn’t really ask for one, anyway. Doesn’t ask about the details either. Aaron tells him about the funeral. Eliza showed up. Her sisters, too. Some people from his work. Closed casket. It doesn’t surprise him that not many people went. The beauty of death is seeing it. He’d say as much but Hercules would disagree. Hercules knows better, of course. Alexander misses sleeping just because Hercules would stay there with him. Sometimes he lays down on the floor with him. He’s still so warm, but it’s not the same anymore.

*

He throws up the coffee he tries to drink and whines until John kicks at his ribs and tells him it’s what he gets for not thinking about his actions. He can do that now. Alexander flips him off and John kicks again. It doesn’t hurt, but it would if he was human. If he was human, his skin would bruise. The permanence that being immortal brings leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’m cursed to forever look ugly now,” he complains and Gilbert snorts at him from the bed.

“We’ll love you still,” Aaron says, monotone. Alexander grins, shows his teeth. None of them comment on it. Forever doesn’t mean anything to them anymore, but it still does to him. From the floor, he reaches for Aaron’s leg, wraps his fingers around his ankle. Squeezes. Aaron’s reading. Hercules is sitting next to him, winks at Alexander. Kisses Aaron’s neck. If it wasn’t light enough for the sun to get through the curtains, Alexander wouldn’t have to stay on the floor where he can barely reach them. It’s getting better, though. 

*

He stops feeling as hungry. Blood dripping from his mouth. Starts feeling gross, sometimes. Jefferson stops calling. Alexander’s hate for him becomes stronger than his need to be close to him. It’s still inconvenient. John still buries the remains for him. Still jokes about Alexander cleaning out the entire forest. Lets him read the spell books, finally. There’s a way to tell the future by dropping bird claws on the ground. Alexander wonders if John would have known if he had checked back then. If it would have changed anything. 

There’s a spell to turn a vampire into a sol vampire. They feed on plants, walk in the sun. They’re safer for humans. Less gross. The spell requires a still beating heart of a human, though. Alexander has only killed animals so far. He wonders if it would make him hungry for Aaron. Feels like he already is. Like he’s always been. Won’t eat him, but he’s hungry. Starving even when Aaron is touching him. The spell is too much of a risk. Just before dawn, he returns to the cabin. He’s starting to grow used to staying on the floor. Knows the woods like the back of his hand. Feels strangely like this was supposed to happen.

*

Eliza drives out to the cabin. Hercules and Gilbert make sure she doesn’t come in. John locks the doors, his nails digging into his own skin. If Alexander really wanted to, he could get out, but it’s light outside. It’s light outside and there’s Eliza. It’s the closest he’s been to a human in over a year. Can smell her blood. She’s the only human after his mother that’s cared about him like this. His mother is dead. He doesn’t want Eliza to be dead too. She will be, but not now. Not because of him. He sits on the kitchen floor and listens.

She tells them it’s unfair that they get to move on together, that they ended up taking Alexander away from her in the first place, that she loved Alexander so much. She tells them it’s unfair that he died. Hercules tells her he knows. Hercules says, bitter, upset, his voice breaking:

“It shouldn’t have ended like this.”

Alexander thinks it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. It’s a long time. He doesn’t know how to convince Hercules it’s not his fault, but he’ll do it. He knows he’ll do it. Eventually. He has to wait for this to pass, but it will happen.

*

They finally let him stay in the cabin alone. He’s craving peaches. Hasn’t stopped since he left Gilbert and John in the cabin. He wouldn’t be able to keep them down so it doesn’t mean anything, but he craves them. He’s gone through all of John’s books by now. He thinks he could learn, if he tried to he could be like John, but it doesn’t feel like it’s for him. Goes through John’s cabinets, makes a list of what he should hunt down for him, scribbles out the things he can’t find in the woods. Watches the trees for a few hours. Wonders what they’ll do when the forest catches up. Makes a list of books he should read. Writes a poem about the difference time makes. Compares craving peaches to being human.

*

“In a few decades you can help at the shop,” Aaron says. He’s in the cabin with Alexander again. He’s been doing it too much. The shop’s almost never open anymore. It’s not like they need it, but Aaron likes it, Alexander knows. Likes it both during the day and during the night. Alexander would be able to help during the night even now. The other creatures won’t recognize him and if they do it’s not like he has to hide from them, but it’s too risky.

“That’s so long,” Alexander answers. His head is on Aaron’s chest. His hands are in front of him. He’s gotten so pale, but he used to get like this during the winter too. He thinks of being in the Caribbean. Maybe in a few hundred years he can go. If he ever gets used to the sun enough. He wants to. Doesn’t like how light his skin’s gotten now. Isn’t him. Like a washed out picture, he thinks.

“You signed up for forever,” Aaron tells him. Like it’s a simple fact. Alexander hums, smiles, moves to kiss Aaron. As he does, vines wrap around his wrists. He pulls Aaron closer, digs his nails slightly into his skin. Kisses him, kisses him, kisses him. Later, soothing the irritated skin, Hercules says:

“You’re too hard on him, baby. Plants are fragile.” It’s the first time Alexander’s not the fragile one in their relationship. He leans down to kiss the tiny scars his hands left.

“I’ll learn,” he promises and can feel Aaron roll his eyes at him. At Hercules, too. When he looks up, Hercules and Aaron are kissing. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic for when they first started dating. His hands tremble a little with how much he wants to join. They ignore him, for a little while. Until he makes a sound in his throat and Hercules pulls away, laughing. Aaron doesn’t laugh, but when he smiles at Alexander there are laughter lines around his eyes.

They pull him in and he does his best to be careful with how he touches them, especially Aaron. Showers in the way they don’t have to be careful with him anymore. As always, thinks of forever. Thinks what he feels for them might make him explode.

**Author's Note:**

> didn't mean to make this a bad copy of lcfayctte's [vampire series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/620707) but oh well
> 
> title from autoclave by the mountain goats


End file.
